


My Love's a Revolver

by unveiled



Series: Snippets [6]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Blow Jobs, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unveiled/pseuds/unveiled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The assassin who never misses and the mercenary who never gives up make natural partners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love's a Revolver

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in a vaguely science fiction universe. Inspired by [this photoset](http://thoughtsnotunveiled.tumblr.com/post/20633851626/im-supposed-to-be-working-on-homo-sacer-this-is) making the rounds on Tumblr. The title is, of course, taken from Madonna's "Revolver".

"Two incoming."

"ETA?"

Charles's eyes unfocused slightly, body leaning back in the rickety chair as he stared into the distance. He'd propped his feet onto the desk of their erstwhile client, the tip of his left boot tapping a tuneless beat against the steel frame of the desk fan whirring away with a whine. A piece of paper floated to the floor.

"Eight minutes, give or take. Mm. One of them is thinking rather loudly of what she'll do with the bounty — _no_ , darling, you wouldn't want to invest in _that_."

"Unprofessional." Erik pulled on his boots, knotting the laces in sharp, precise tugs. "She must be new to the business. What about the other one?"

"Scared out of his wits, poor dear," Charles said, cheerfully. "Oh, how lovely, this one's a mutant. Short-term precognition. Range... one minute exactly."

Erik grunted. He hated killing mutants.

A smile curled in the corners of Charles's mouth. It made him look younger, like the boy he once was, all those years ago when Erik was a washed-out hero of the Rebellion looking for another war to fight. Even then, even with his telepathy subdued by the implant, Charles was a luminous gem among mere pebbles.

"I'll take care of him, if you prefer," he offered.

Erik paused in checking his semi-automatic. Thought about it. "Please."

Charles chuckled, low and indolent. He let one foot drop down from the desk, the sole of his boot landing on the wooden floor with a thud. Erik's eyes followed the gleaming line of black leather up to Charles's worn, blood-splattered jeans, to the vee of his thighs. Charles's hands were blunt and powerful, entirely incongruous with the mild-mannered softness he affected, callused palms rasping against cloth as he ran them up his thighs and—

The metal zipper purred across Erik's senses.

"What, _now_?"

Charles's smile widened. "We've had sex under worse circumstances. Now hurry up and come over here before they start lining up the shot."

Two strides and Erik was standing between Charles's legs, already unbuttoning his cargo trousers. Once upon a time, he thought, he would have objected. Dismissed it as careless, too carelessly dangerous for little more than a gratuitous thrill. What price the roar of adrenaline in his blood, the snap and crackle of a body tuned to respond to danger?

 _My love_ , Charles whispered in his head, amused and affectionate. Charles's presence was a warmth coiling down his spine — not controlling, nothing that clumsy, just a ceaseless reminder that he wasn't alone. Never again. _Darling_.

Erik pushed down his trousers and underwear. Grasped the back of Charles's head with a hand, fingers twining through the dark hair.

Charles leaned forward and flicked a look at Erik through his lashes, unashamed and wanting. A wicked promise of what was to come, and a privilege numerous men and women once paid to have, before Erik taught Charles to handle a sniper rifle as perfectly as he served his clients' desires.

Erik raised his other hand, fingers spread wide. A woman's choked cry echoed distantly a building over, the bullet meant for Erik buried between her brows, her rifle crumpling noisily into a ball as he closed the hand into a fist. Charles's palms were hot on his hips, nails digging into the fabric.

 _God, I love you_ , Charles said, as Erik sank into his mouth, his lips stretching red and wet around Erik's cock. They groaned in unison. Erik closed his eyes, his world quickening with the amphetamine bliss of Charles, sucking him down as if Charles was starving for him, could never get enough of him.

"You are—" Erik gasped, thrusting hard. He tried again, "Charles, you—"

_Shh. Watch. Our would-be hunter's almost at the door._

He opened his eyes. The fingers of Charles's right hand stroked over cloth and leather and metal, unholstering Erik's semi-automatic. His thumb brushed against the skin of Erik's hip. Erik swallowed.

Charles never needed a rifle scope, not when his telepathy gave him better aim for his mark than the best sharpshooters Erik knew; mind, body, and gun clicking into a seamless whole. The assassin who never missed. Charles could dispense with a physical weapon altogether, kill from a distance with his mutant ability.

For this, though, Charles always preferred to use his hands.

The gunfire was loud in the hot, ruined room. So was Erik's cry seconds later as he spilled into Charles's mouth, pressing bruises into that pale neck, Charles's triumphant laughter echoing in his head.

  


**END**


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